A Tale of Two Doctors
by House Calls
Summary: Two men - both sure of their own brilliance - meet one snowy Christmas Eve day. Chapter 3 is up at last!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** While I enjoy seeing different facets of the Doctor, I miss his lighter side . . . And _House, M.D._ didn't have a proper Christmas episode this year (in my opinion), so here's my attempt at taking care of both 'problems' at once.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own anything associated with _Doctor Who_ or _House M.D.._ This idea and any original characters I may happen to come up with, however, are mine.

**Timelines: **Set during _Smith and Jones _in season 3 for the 10th Doctor and after _Wilson_ in season 6 for House.

_whwhwhwhwhwhwhwhwh_

**A Tale of Two Doctors**

**Chapter One**

Snowflakes vainly tried to fill in the footprints marring the once-pristine surface in front of the entryway to the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Not helping their efforts was a tall, lanky man in a long brown coat with a multi-colored scarf wrapped around his neck, his once-white Chuck Taylor trainers blending in with the dirty snow. His hands tucked deep into his pockets, he stopped far enough away from the front doors so as not to trigger the auto-open mechanism. He made a visual scan of the front of the building, his brow furrowed as the snow coated his ruffled dark brown hair.

"Huh," the man known galaxies over as the Doctor said to himself. He made his way to the far right side of the building, deftly stepping out of the way of an older-looking man with a scowl and a cane. The energy signature the Doctor had been tracking had ended here but now . . . He pulled a smallish Y-shaped object from his inside coat pocket and gave it a shake before holding it up to his ear. It was still working. "Very clever, whoever you are," he said as his gaze darted over the front of the building. "But not as clever as me!" He smiled and was about to say something else before catching himself.

Ducking his head down briefly the Doctor found himself wondering if he should have just jumped immediately back to the day he met one Martha Jones in a hospital thousands of miles away. Not that he was looking for a replacement for . . . Rose . . . Nah, he reminded himself with a shake of his head. He was just missing having a friend, a mate, and a hand to hold if he was honest. And he was. Sometimes. But then the TARDIS decided they had to change course and follow the energy signal straight away to the good ol' U S of A. And on the day before Christmas (22 hours and 10 seconds before, in fact). _Ah, Christmas . . . _

The Doctor rocked back slightly on his heels, bringing his focus back to the building in front of him. Martha definitely would have made it easier for him to gain entrance to the hospital. She was almost a fully recognized-on-Earth doctor for one. And she was brilliant. (He had known _that_ since she deftly hid her surprise upon hearing the echo of his second heart beating in his chest that day at the Royal Hope Hospital in England.) As it was now, the Doctor was left with one option to get into the hospital for any respectable amount of time: stopping his right heart. (Of all the times for the TARDIS to hide the psychic paper.) Yes, he had done it before — the day before he met Martha, in fact — but he didn't like it. It wore him out, it did, even when he was just lying around, never mind when there was running involved.

But things were what they were at the moment and he really did need to determine if the energy signature either grew cold here or was merely hiding. So the Doctor made his way into the hospital to search out a more secluded area in which to sit while he set about the task of temporarily shutting down the necessary heart. He ducked down a hallway and quickly came upon a single-occupancy loo. Ignoring the 'For Personnel Only' sign, he stepped in and used his sonic screwdriver to ensure he would have the uninterrupted block of time necessary to get the job done.

Exactly five minutes later (three of which were used to make sure he was reasonably steady on his feet), the Doctor stepped back into the hallway and made his way to the main reception area.

"Excuse me," he said to one of the nursing staff, letting his smile morph into a grimace when a brown-haired woman turned around, "I got a bit turned around and --"

"The walk-in clinic is straight through the doors to your left," she interjected as she gave him an efficient and stern once-over.

"Oh, you're good," the Doctor replied, wrapping an arm around his stomach as if experiencing a brief spasm of pain before pushing off from the counter and heading in the direction indicated by the nurse. He quickly settled himself down with the necessary paperwork from the clinic nurse, surreptitiously checking the energy signature tracker while awaiting his turn for the walk-in clinic.

_whwhwhwhwhwhwhwhwh_

At least he wasn't eating a cold turkey sandwich with someone's housesitter Greg House thought with a smirk as he dumped his backpack on his desk. Pulling out his chair, he sank down into it with a small groan as he rubbed his right thigh. The cold weather was never kind to his leg, which at times begged the question as to why he didn't just move somewhere warmer. It wasn't like he couldn't find a job outside the walls of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. He had done so before, in fact, and could do it again. Maybe Wilson would — his office door swinging open kept House from further contemplations.

"Happy Chrismukhah!" House said by way of greeting to his visitor, running a hand over his closely cropped steel-grey hair. "Have you been naughty or nice?" He waggled his eyebrows at his boss as he rested both his hands on top of his cane.

"House," Lisa Cuddy said with a sigh, looking down briefly as she tucked a strand of her long dark hair behind her right ear. "Just, don't." She folded her arms in front of her chest with another sigh as she stopped a few feet away from his desk.

"Scrooge," House replied with a mock pout, absently wondering if her boyfriend appreciated the way she filled out the cranberry-red dress she was wearing. "And," he continued, giving no hint as to where his thoughts had been, "along a similar vein I suppose you're here to make sure I do my clinic hours today?"

"Yes," she replied, her posture relaxing marginally. "And your team is under threat of being called in tomorrow if they cover for you. That includes Wilson," she added as she turned to leave.

House let out a small chuckle, causing Cuddy stop in the open doorway. "What?" she said, looking over her shoulder with a frown.

"Oh, you know me," House replied, pulling his tall frame out of his chair and making his way towards her, "I just have so much Christmas joy in my heart it spills right out of m --" He stopped as he caught sight of the sprig of mistletoe taped above the doorway. He wondered briefly who had hung it up and when before deciding it didn't really matter at the moment. Before Cuddy could step away from him House placed a soft, chaste kiss on her cheek. "Merry Christmas, Lisa," he said quietly as he stepped around her and out of his office. He wasn't surprised to hear the click of her high heels on the floor as she went in the opposite direction of him.

Whistling a random Christmas tune House made his way down to the clinic, mentally bracing himself for the pre-holiday crazies. Why they didn't all just stock up on vitamin C, chicken soup, and — for the inevitable over-indulgence — antacids and leave him alone he didn't know. His team would call it karma, his best friend would roll his eyes in exasperation, and his boss would tell him to just do his job for once. With a sigh House grabbed the nearest file folder and scanned its contents, frowning slightly when he read the patient's name. If his next patient was Jane Doe Wilson owed him ten bucks.

"John Smith," House called out. A pale-skinned, freckle-faced man shoved something into the inside pocket of his long overcoat as he stood up and looked House's way. House nodded at the man once before turning in the direction of exam room number two.

"So what seems to be the problem?" House asked as Smith made himself comfortable on the exam table. "Sniffles? Flu? Too much fruit cake?"

Smith briefly looked up at the ceiling as if it somehow held the answer. "No, no," he replied in a clear British accent. "Never too much fruit cake, me, and no sniffles or flu. Or so I think. Besides, if I knew what was the matter," he said with a toothy grin, "then I wouldn't need a doctor now would I?" The grin got bigger as Smith barreled on. "I am, however, knackered or, as you Yanks would say, under the weather or plumb wore out. Or maybe 'blah' would be a better fit." He paused, a thoughtful look on his face. "Yup." House winced at the popped 'p' while Smith reiterated, "'Blah' sums it up quite nicely."

_Idiot — a crazy idiot_, House thought with an internal grimace. He grabbed a tongue depressor and a pen light before going to stand in front of Smith, who opened his mouth wide and let out a long 'ah' before House could even open his own mouth to speak. _And annoying_, House added to his mental checklist as he clicked on the pen light only to be interrupted by a cacophony of whirs and beeps sounding from Smith's coat.

House took a step back. "What the —?"

"Be with you in a tick," Smith said, fumbling around in the inside coat pocket for several seconds before the noise stopped. "Now," he said brightly, his hands back beside him on the exam table, "where were we again? Oh yes!" And with that he again opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue.

"Not so fast," House said with a nod at Smith's coat. "How did you manage to stuff practically your whole arm into the inside pocket?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Still don't owe anything save for this idea and what I have written, and still most appreciative of __**SpaceAnJL**__'s help! Enjoy!_

**Chapter Two**

It had taken every molecule of restraint the Doctor had to not jump off the exam table and follow the energy signal when the tracking device had gone off again in his pocket, never mind not even sneak a peek at it. But he couldn't further arouse the suspicions of the man standing before him. The Doctor realized he had to be the Doctor House the nurses had been talking about. Funny, he didn't look like the Grinch . . . or Scrooge for that matter, even with the dark-gray hair and at times dour expression. But there was a brightness, an attentiveness behind his eyes . . . one the Doctor had seen in many of his travelling companions over the centuries. And as such, the Doctor knew the man wouldn't be easily dissuaded from finding out why his coat pockets were so spacious.

But the Doctor didn't get to be brilliant by being slow to think on his feet (or his seat, as the case may be). "Oh that," he began with a tug on his left ear, "is due to a hole in my pocket. A rather big hole, in fact, which means a lot of things can fall down into it. And this is a rather long coat so as I'm sure you can understand and have probably now already realized — for you look to be a very clever chap — I can stick my arm a far ways down it to get to what I need. Or, in this case, don't need at the moment." He swung his legs out in front of him, crossing one ankle over the other before letting them fall back against the exam table.

Doctor House stared at him, his blue-eyed gaze penetrating. The Doctor didn't flinch nor did his own brown-eyed gaze waver. He had experienced such scrutiny at one time or another for a good part of his life now and found a grin from him often did much more to disarm the other person than anything he could say. And that was saying a lot. His grin, that is, said a — oi, he was getting off track. Not a good thing to do as Dr. House was asking him a question.

"Show me the hole."

Okay, that was not so much a question as a statement. Or had it started out as a question? He had to pay better attention. And why hadn't his grin worked? It always worked! Well, mostly. Well, at least half of the time. Well, sometimes.

"Why should I show you?" the Doctor questioned with a jut of his chin. Leaning forward slightly, he made a bit of a show of looking around the room as if to make sure they were truly alone. "What do you think I'm hiding? A gun? A biological weapon? Or —" he fumbled around in the pocket until he grasped what he needed "— a boring old mobile?" he finished, brandishing the object in the air. Flipping the device open he frowned at the screen. "Two missed calls," he said strictly for the benefit of the doctor before him before tucking it back into his pocket. "Besides which," the Doctor added, his tone grave, "the hole in my pocket is on the seam. If I show you, I'll just make it bigger. Then who knows what all I'd lose down there!"

The Doctor almost chortled when Dr. House muttered he would probably lose what was left of his mind, but he managed to keep it in and allowed Dr. House to properly check his throat, take his temperature and look in both his ears. Dr. House would have been an excellent foil for Captain Jack Harkness. Too bad he had to leave Jack behind . . .

But enough of that — best to keep moving. And the Doctor still had an energy signal to sort out and his other heart to get going again (and hopefully not while on the run). Right then. Allons-y and all that sort of thing. And he really didn't mean to be rude, but he was glad this fellow wouldn't be able to give chase, what with his cane and all. _Still rude and not ginger. _

"Do you mind," he said, keeping his tone light as Dr. House scribbled something in a file, "if I make a quick call?"

_whwhwhwhwhwhwhwhwh_

If House didn't know any better — and had he still been popping Vicodin like he hoped there would be no tomorrow — he would have thought he was caught in some sort of Dickens-inspired episode of _Punk'd_. As it was, he was seriously starting to think John Smith had somehow escaped from the psych ward or, at the very least, should be checked into one. Maybe Mayfield had an opening. Smith would give House's former roommate Alvie a real run for his money in the bi-polar — _wait a minute_!

"You want to make a call?" House said, pen paused in mid-air and the file he had been writing in forgotten. "Now?" The man was definitely up to something and House knew it had to do with whatever was inside his coat pocket. Hole in the seam his a —

"Yes; sorry, sorry," Smith replied, pulling out his cell phone as he hopped off the exam table. "I know how valuable your time is, it really is for all you lot, really, but I'll only be a —"

"—tick, yeah." House tossed the file onto the nearby counter. "Got it, guv'ner," he added with his own British accent.

Smith paused by the doorway. "Not bad," he said with an approving nod, "not bad at all." Then he was gone with a grin, a wink and a flurry of brown fabric billowing behind him. He reminded House of a tall, skinny cheshire cat.

The door clicked softly shut and the sound spurred House out of his musings and into action. Whatever the game was with Smith, he knew he didn't have much time in which to figure it out. Grabbing the file, he finished up his last notation (all the better to keep Nurse Brenda off his back for a while) before getting his cane and hustling out of the room.

A loud shriek followed by the sound of a door hitting a wall led House out of the clinic and down the small hallway on the other side of the main reception area that led to the labs. Rounding the corner (Shrieker was already threatening a law suit to Cuddy and for once it wasn't his fault), House caught sight of a flutter of brown fabric as someone ducked around the corner to his left. Increasing the length of his gait, House made it around the corner in short order then almost stumbled over Smith as he leaned against a wall and repeatedly pounded a fist to the left of and slightly down from his right shoulder while muttering for something to start.

"Soooo . . ." House let his voice trail off as he leaned against the wall opposite Smith. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Oh. Hello!" Smith said with a grin as he straightened up, letting his arm fall to his side. "Would you mind giving me a hand here?" he continued, turning so his back was to House. "Hit me, as hard as you can, just to the left of my right shoulder blade. And quickly," Smith added, pulling a device out of his pocket which definitely was not a cell phone. "So hard to do this by myself," he said somewhat absently, frowning as he flicked at the Y-shaped device. He turned back around when House failed to do as he had asked. "I won't sue you, I swear. Just can't go on running without a good thwack on the back. Hey, that rhymes!" He grinned, but quickly schooled his features into a more neutral expression when House just stared impassively at him. "Right then." Tucking the device back into his coat pocket, Smith took several deep breaths and moved as if he were a boxer preparing for a sparring match. And before House could stop him Smith then slammed the right side of his body into the door frame, letting out a very satisfied-sounding "Aha! Much better!" before dashing down the hallway and taking the corner in a squeal of rubber soles on waxed linoleum.

House was patting down his pockets, making sure he hadn't somehow accidentally began taking Vicodin again when Smith reappeared with a wheelchair and, as if it were possible, an even more manic grin than before.

"Fancy going on a trip?" Smith asked.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own _Doctor Who_ or _House, M.D._ or anything associated with them. This story and any new characters are mine, however, as well as a tiny TARDIS and a sonic screwdriver/pen. So it all sort of balances out in the end. ;-)

**Author's Note:** I have no excuses for the long period between updates. I'd blame Daleks or Cybermen or (insert villain/monster of choice here) but I can't. Drats. Hopefully this is worth the wait to at least a small degree . . . And a big thank you to SpaceAnJL for taking the time to offer feedback on yet another chapter! Oh, and thank you to all who have read & reviewed & given me a needed kick in the pants to update this story. :)

**Chapter Three**

In 30 seconds the Doctor would still have exactly three minutes to easily catch whoever was at the other end of the energy signature. After that a smidgen of trouble would be involved. Or a speck. Or a tiny spot. Tiny, that is, in comparison to, well, something really, really, _really _big. As was usually the case, though he did his best not to dwell on it. It was part of the adventure, after all!

_ But . . ._

The Doctor repressed a sigh. But sometimes it would be nice to have all kinds of time to take care of the threat at hand. No frantic plans and running endlessly about. It was all rather ironic, really, how he relied upon the two considering he was a Time Lord with a ship capable of travel through time and space. Though he did love running and brilliantly making it up as he went along. There was a certain . . ._ je ne sais quois_ to it all. And he had been running for so many years now . . .

He finally let the sigh escape as timelines converged and split in his mind's eye. Tick-tock, tickety-tock, time was ticking away and the Doctor's feet literally itched to take off, for his head to just forget the man in front of him and to sort this out on his own. He could swipe an identification badge, keep to the maintenance lifts and lesser-used corridors and –

"Find someone," whispered a memory of a bedraggled bride from a Christmas past. A grin pulled at the corner of the Doctor's mouth. _Two__ minutes and 29.1 seconds until there is quite possibly a Very Big Mess, and I think of Donna . . ._ The Doctor pushed the grin (but not the advice) away with an eyebrow arched in this galaxy's silent equivalent of 'Well?' as, at last, Dr. House met his gaze with a determined nod of his head.

"I'm in," the man said without a quiver of hesitation in his voice, his gaze not wavering even when the Doctor felt another grin take reign of the lower half of his face (though he did, wisely perhaps, manage to remain silent).

Eye-contact was broken by Dr. House as he turned around in order to settle himself into the wheelchair. "Use the main elevators," he instructed as the Doctor began to head towards the bank of maintenance lifts at the end of the hallway.

"Right," the Doctor said, deftly spinning the chair around to correct course. "We'll hide in plain sight. Excellent plan, Dr. House!" He allowed himself an internal 'ha!' in response to his companion's mumbled 'idiot'. Definitely not a stupid ape, this one. _Brilliant!_

"Just House is fine, by the way," Dr. House said as they neared the small cluster of people waiting for the next lift. "Not even my mother puts 'doctor' in front of it." He briefly looked over his shoulder at the Doctor. "And what should I really be calling you?"

"Just the Doctor is fine," the Doctor replied, "without the 'the' of course. And you couldn't pronounce what my mother put in front of or behind it."

Dr. — no, _House_ — let out a derisive snort, tapping out a jazzy rhythm on the handle of his cane while inquiring what the Doctor was a doctor of, exactly.

"It depends on the situation, really," he replied, hoping to leave it at that as the lift doors opened and he wheeled House in, making sure they stayed close to the doors. The energy tracker had slowed down when they reached the lift, meaning whoever was at the other end had picked up the pace. And they were in what was most likely Very Big Mess territory as the three-minute mark had quite easily sauntered past.

"Third floor, please," the Doctor said to the man who was the unofficial button-pusher, grimacing inwardly at the man's intake of breath. Questions were sure to follow. Okay, questions usually followed. Either way, now really wasn't the place for them nor did they have the time. Perhaps if he could discreetly reach for his sonic screwdriver and get it to setting —

"Who is your friend, House?" the button-pusher asked, sliding his hands into his white lab coat. He spared the Doctor only a brief glance.

"Smith, John Smith," House replied, barely looking at the man — Dr. J. Wilson, Oncology according to his ID tag. The lift pinged as it stopped at the second floor. "Aw, too bad. It's your floor already, Wilson," House said with mock disappointment as three of the lift's occupants made their way out. "New, recently divorced pediatrician started today," House explained to the Doctor (and quite possibly to Wilson who was looking slightly chagrined). "If you see Cuddy or Nurse Brenda," House added with a pointed nod at Wilson, "you didn't see me or Mr. Smith here." Apparently used to such behaviour from House, Wilson just shrugged his shoulders as he, too, left.

"Whatever, House," the Doctor heard Wilson say as the doors began to slide shut. But a thought had apparently occurred to Wilson as rather than walk away he spun around and reached out his arm, triggering the doors to open again. The Doctor swallowed most of a frustrated growl. "You're not from Mayfield, are you?" Wilson said, looking at the Doctor as if seeing him for the first time.

"No," the Doctor replied, hoping his features were calm and relaxed. Any hostility on his end would not help right now. "I'm from England, actually. The accent sort of gives it away for most people. But," he continued, not even giving Wilson a chance to open his mouth, "I really do need to get Dr. House and myself to the third floor, and I'm sure all these other people have somewhere to be other than this fine metal box, so if you don't mind . . .?" He indicated Wilson needed to step back with a bob of his head.

Wilson put his hands up in surrender as he moved away from the lift, (with some help from House's cane) before the doors shut.

"Fantastic!" the Doctor said with a slight bounce on the balls of his feet as the energy tracker picked up speed, the lift resuming its ascent to the third floor. They were either 1) getting closer or b), er, 2) whoever was at the other end of the signature was slowing down, which meant he could still very possibly have plenty of time to do, well, something brilliant. The Doctor couldn't say what would happen next, honestly. Maybe this would actually be an easy matter to wrap up. That did happen. Occasionally.

The Doctor's smile grew wider as he could literally hear House roll his eyes with annoyance when he began to whistle an old English folk tune. Never mind Jack and House meeting up – House and Donna Noble would be a match for the ages.

But all thoughts of someone else's face becoming acquainted with Donna's palm left as the lift's doors slid open.

"Oooo." The Doctor grimaced. "That's just, not . . ." He scratched the nape of his neck. "Blimey."

_whwhwhwhwhwhwhwhwh_

House was well-acquainted with the third floor of the hospital. It continued to offer some of the best hiding places when avoiding clinic duty. There was the psych ward (not much use for it, at least not as of late), maternity (involved in the odd case or two), admissions (he had minions to take care of such things) and some great staff lounges (with locks that were ridiculously easy to pick or jam).

But what he saw as the doors slid open left him rubbing his eyes and Smith relatively speechless. House wracked his brain for any snippets of conversation in the hospital, at the bar – anywhere, really – about some new, crazy hidden camera reality show that could explain the current state of the third floor of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Nothing came to mind. And House _knew _there was nothing in his system which would lead to him hallucinating. Again.

House muttered an expletive, barely noticing Smith as he made sure the people still on the elevator went straight back to the main floor. Oh, House knew there were other staff members and patients here, and probably even very close by. Yet he was becoming curiously transfixed by the numerous glistening white, blob-like strands hanging from the ceiling.

Putting his hands on the armrests of the wheelchair, House's initial puzzlement gave way to a strange sense of awe as he began to push himself up. He wanted to touch this, this _stuff_. And even as on the periphery of his mind he knew this to be a bad idea, he really didn't care. _Couldn't care, wouldn't care . . . didn't have a care . . ._

"No! Stay down!" Smith's command tugged House out of his reverie. Strong hands gripped his shoulders, pushing him back down onto the chair. "Don't let it touch you," Smith said, stepping in front of House and crouching down on his haunches. "Not yet." He smiled when House focused his attention on him. "Oh good – you're back!" he said with another toothy smile as he fished around the inside pocket of his long coat. Several items were pulled out – a banana, cardboard 3D glasses, some rope, and a couple of items House didn't recognize – before Smith yanked out a key ring with a couple of non-descript silver keys jangling away. Pulling off one key, Smith tied it to a piece of rope and placed it around House's neck before repeating the procedure on him self.

House shook his head, puzzled by the sudden clearing of his mind. He tugged at the key, moving his arm to pull the string it was on up over his head before being stopped by Smith.

"That is a perception filter – no one can see you unless they really want to – and we need to keep these on until we get out of here," Smith said, his voice low and steady as he stood. "We'll have to leave the chair and your cane– doesn't work too well on extraneous objects. And we have to be as quiet as possible so these Bobs will forget we're even here."

"Bobs?"

"Yes," Smith replied, "Bobs. Short for -" He scrunched up his face for a few seconds. "Well, that's not important now," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "They all took a vote as a species, and picked Bob as their new name as their original moniker was quite the mouthful. Personally, I would have gone for Barry, but that's just me." He shrugged his shoulders as if to say 'what can you do?' before pushing a button on what looked to be a fancy penlight, causing a pulsating sound and blue light to emit from its tip. "What matters _now_ is they're about to start the delivery process and trust me, you don't want to be around for that." Keeping the whirring penlight firmly pointed straight ahead in his right hand, Smith jerked the thumb of his free hand over his shoulder. "You best get back to the lift."

For about the tenth time in at least as many seconds, House again wondered how soon he could get a psych consult in for Smith, not moving towards the elevators until he saw Smith was slowly backing up in the same direction. What was the saying? In for a penny, in for a pound?

The duo had just stepped back into the elevator when something Smith said clicked into place in House's mind. "Wait," he said as Smith jabbed the button for the main floor, "these . . . Bobs are giving _birth_?"

Smith shoved his hands in his pant pockets, his gaze fixed on the flashing numbers above the door. "Oooo, you _are_ a clever one," he said with a brief sideways glance at House. "And the Bobs are, too." He remained silent for a beat. "Really, it would be quite inconvenient to deliver offspring in, say, the radiology department. Not enough towels, I would reckon."

Even though he thought his eyes may actually roll out of his head in annoyance, House rolled them once more as he reached around Smith, pushing the 'stop' button just as the elevator passed the second floor. "Who _are_ you?" he asked, maneuvering himself between Smith and the control panel, trying not to wince as pain skipped up his right thigh.

"I told you," Smith said. "I'm the Doctor. And before you tell me I need to earn that title, I have. Many, many times over. Why I could even fix your leg," he said with nod at the thigh House was now massaging. "But . . ." Smith's voice trailed off as he looked at some point just past House's left ear with a frown. "I'm sorry – I'm so, so sorry," he continued after a few seconds, meeting House's gaze with eyes that suddenly seemed so weary, wise, and _ancient. "_Too many things would change. So many things. But," Smith flashed another grin which almost reached his eyes, " it will be worth it. Oh yes!"

Then before House could blink, much less question this madman (for Smith was the walking definition of the term), Smith aimed his penlight at the control panel, the elevator was on the main floor, and Smith was striding out through its barely-open doors.


End file.
